


Set Against the Sky

by burntotears



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-02
Updated: 2010-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-08 15:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burntotears/pseuds/burntotears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur and Merlin form a deeper bond than friendship, but when Merlin reveals his magic, will Arthur be able to forgive Merlin of his secrecy?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Set Against the Sky

**Author's Note:**

> This is a ficmix. [Go to my LiveJournal entry](http://community.livejournal.com/fandomesque/20415.html) to download the zip file and see the songs. It would be a great idea to read the story while you listen to the music, as each bit was written to a corresponding song.

Merlin and Arthur had been taking part in this awkward dance for quite a while now. After two years together as prince and manservant, they had obviously grown close as friends, but there was that _feeling_ they both had growing within their chests that made them question the depth of their friendship.

The frequent glances, the lingering touches—completely unnecessary touches—, the excuses to spend more time together than was particularly proper for a prince with a servant, all pointed to romantic feelings loitering on the fringes of their hearts. The trouble with Merlin and Arthur was that neither of them had the fortitude to take things further so the relentless dance continued.

After half a month had passed, they found themselves alone together in Arthur's chambers once more, making small talk about nothing in particular. Merlin was on the floor polishing the prince's armour, constantly glancing up at Arthur who was seated on his bed sharpening his dulling sword.

"Arthur," Merlin said and then mentally slapped himself for saying anything at all. He had absolutely nothing to say to the blond—he just wanted Arthur to look at him so he could see his eyes more clearly.

When Arthur did look, they stared at each other for an eternity, barely blinking or moving or breathing for fear that their intense gaze would break and they'd no longer have a reason to connect the way they were now. There was always an interruption, though, and the rap on Arthur's door sent them both bolt upright, feeling as if they'd been caught doing something when in actuality nothing had even occurred. Merlin opened the door and Sir Leon was there to inform Arthur of the king's request for the prince's presence. With a nod the knight was gone and Merlin shut the door and turned to find Arthur right behind him, quiet but with a fierceness surrounding him like a blanket. The air was so heavy with Arthur's odd energy that Merlin could practically taste it.

And then he _did_ taste it, because Arthur descended on him like he did his prey on a hunt, shoving Merlin against the back of the wooden door and snogging the warlock so forcefully it was uncomfortable at first. Arthur calmed down after some time and the kiss grew softer and Merlin found himself responding with a similar eagerness, hands fisting at Arthur's hair and shoulders.

When they pulled away from one another, Arthur's hands rested on either side of Merlin's hips and the prince pressed his forehead against Merlin's and sighed. Neither of them could even bring themselves to speak, but a smirk was forming on the prince's face that slowly evolved into a grin that Merlin couldn't help but return. Not long after they were laughing heartily about absolutely nothing, but they were entirely content to be doing so.

. . .

Merlin and Arthur have always looked out for each other (though sometimes reluctantly) and now that they were in a _different_ type of relationship than before, they were keeping a closer eye on one another. This was both endearing and annoying to each of them, because according to the other, there was danger lurking around every corner.

Merlin found it particularly irritating that Arthur thought him incapable of handling situations himself, but he couldn't exactly tell the prince that he was more capable than Arthur could even imagine. This was the sort of bittersweet situation Merlin was now facing—he was happy to have the attention from Arthur, but sometimes the blond was excessive with his caring.

"_Merlin_. You need to learn how to hold a bloody sword if you ever hope to hold your own in a fight." Arthur came at him once more with his sword, slashing left and right and Merlin felt like he was being accosted—not in an enjoyable way either.

"Arthur, I'm rotten with swords and you know that! Just give it up already. I'll never be able to fight well with one." Merlin's body ached and all he wanted to do was lie down and take a nap.

"You can't expect me to be around all the time to save your arse, mate. You need to defend yourself!"

"Save _my_ arse?" Merlin exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air only to realise he still held a heavy metal sword in his right, which twisted his wrist painfully until he released it and grunted from the unnatural bending his forearm had done. Now he had a sprained wrist and a ridiculous prince to deal with!

The blond sighed and lifted Merlin's arm to his face to inspect the damage. Merlin groaned at how tender his wrist felt when the prince touched it. "You have _got_ to learn to be more carefully, you idiot." Then Arthur placed a kiss on the inside of his servant's wrist and Merlin almost forgot why the blond was holding it to begin with.  
"Goodnight, Arthur," Merlin said as he blew out the candle at Arthur's bedside table that night.

"Goodnight, Merlin." Arthur was exhausted, Merlin could see, as he fell asleep almost instantly. The sorcerer stood beside his bed and watched the prince's chest rise and fall unsteadily at first but eventually at a normal rhythm. The moon gave Merlin just enough light to see Arthur's face, which looked paler than it should.

"Sweet dreams, Arthur," Merlin whispered quietly, a sense of protectiveness filling his chest as he gazed down at his prince. It had always been Merlin's job to protect Arthur, but now that his feelings had deepened, he worried more and more about Arthur's safety. _I'll protect you_, he thought, determined. _So long as I am here, no harm will come to you, Arthur. I promise you this._

. . .

Merlin longed to tell Arthur about his magic. Just being friends with Arthur strained Merlin's conscious knowing that he was keeping things from his mate, but now? Now Merlin felt like he was out-right lying to the man he cared so much about and that stung Merlin more than anything.

But what could he do? Gaius insisted that if anyone else knew about Merlin's abilities it would spell disaster for the warlock and anyone else involved. Merlin, on the other hand, did not think that the repercussions would be so severe if Arthur were to know, but then again, Merlin didn't really understand Arthur's stance on sorcery. He'd confessed on numerous occasions differing opinions on it. Sometimes he claimed that magic couldn't all be evil, but other times…

And Arthur wasn't a complete idiot—he'd noticed things that Merlin had done and while he always accepted the sorcerer's explanation without contest, it was obvious that he did not entirely believe the words that spilled from his servant's mouth. It was times like these that Merlin felt the worst about his confidentiality. When Arthur gazed at him intently and waited for a _real_ answer from Merlin who again gave him the same nonsense excuses he always did to hide his secret, Merlin felt his heart ache inside his chest. There was a drop in the prince's stare that told Merlin that he was disappointed that he was not being honest with him. Arthur had an idea that his servant had a secret, but he was expecting that Merlin would tell him eventually.

It ate at Merlin every second he spent with the other man. The more sincere they became with one another, the more Merlin felt like he was a fake. Here was this noble man, bearing his heart and soul to his servant and how did said servant repay the favour? By continually lying to the prince as if he did not deserve to know the truth. And _oh_ did Arthur deserve to know the truth—ever since they had grown closer all Arthur had done was be honest and fair to Merlin.

Each time the two of them parted, Merlin felt the confession pressing on his chest, begging to inch its way up his throat and escape between his eagerly opening lips. He wanted so badly to tell his companion, his friend—his lover, but the longer he kept it in, the more he felt that Arthur would hate him if he knew. So instead of confessing the truth, he kissed the prince back with ardour and cried himself to sleep after.

. . .

He was still uncertain as to when the turning point came, but he reached a plateau where his secret became too much for him to keep from Arthur anymore. The honesty and love he saw within Arthur's face as the prince looked at him made his heart plummet every moment he refused to confess to the man his vast and well-kept secret.

Merlin spent at least a week trying to come up with the best way to reveal his abilities to the prince, but everything he rehearsed just seemed too insignificant. How was one supposed to confess such a secret? He felt as if there should be a grand gesture of hopeful acceptance, but it was not as if this was something your parents taught you as a child.

He never could decide what would be the best way to do it. In fact, at a spur of the moment, Merlin confessed to Arthur in a rush of barely comprehendible words as they returned from a hunt one evening.

After two and a half years of concealment, Merlin told Arthur about his magic. It was always just _that_ easy and after he had done it, he wondered why he agonised over it for days and days when all he really had to do was open his mouth and _speak_.

Telling Arthur was easy, but enduring the silence was not. After Merlin raised his hand and made a stick float in mid-air in front of the prince, he heard nothing but the sound of the forest around him in reply. The stick fell forgotten to the ground and Merlin began to panic. His chest constricted around his heart as the blond stared blankly through him, rather than _at_ him. What was Arthur thinking? Was he amazed and stunned to silence? Or was he so vehemently angry that he could not bring himself to even say something to Merlin?

Merlin began to think that he'd made a mistake. He shouldn't have said anything to Arthur; he should have continued to conceal his abilities and just be happy for Arthur's returned affection, even if it left a hollowness in his chest to pretend such. Arthur didn't move—he barely even blinked and Merlin feared the worse. Any moment now Arthur was going to begin yelling in anger and condemning Merlin as a liar and an evil sorcerer and there was nothing he could do to change that. He had thought that Arthur had a differing opinion than his father on things, but this silence sang so loudly that it was deafening.

And then Arthur reacted. He gave Merlin one last, intense look and he just began to _walk away_. He turned his back on Merlin and left him there, standing in the middle of the forest with a brace of coneys slung lifelessly across his shoulders and no idea as to what the prince was actually thinking. Right then the sorcerer would have rather the prince yell and hit him than leave him in insurmountable uncertainty.

The warlock fell down hard on his knees in the leaf litter, barely aware of the pain coursing through his thighs; Merlin felt nothing but the shattering of his heart inside his ribcage.

. . .

Arthur felt that he was unable to breathe properly. He had left Merlin alone in the woods as calmly as he could, but as soon as he knew he was out of earshot, Arthur fell apart. He braced himself against a tree and worked laboriously at sucking in and pushing out the air from his lungs. His mind was racing faster than he could keep up with—Merlin was a sorcerer, Merlin had lied to him, Merlin had kept it a secret from him, he was in love with Merlin and Merlin was a sorcerer.

Merlin had _lied_ to him. He wasn't certain if it was the fact that Merlin lied, or what he had lied about that hurt him more. Arthur had stuck up for him—he'd even stuck up for the man to his father, saying that there was absolutely no way that his manservant was a sorcerer. And he was! Merlin could do magic!

If he were at all rational he would have realised that he had known this all along. Arthur had _always_ known there was something off with Merlin, he just couldn't pinpoint what it was. Knowing for certain now, he felt daft for not figuring it out sooner. There had been _so many_ signs and he'd completely ignored them; he'd swallowed up Merlin's tripe over and over and never once stopped to question it.

What else had Merlin lied to him about? He could have been lying all the while! For all Arthur knew, he was a bloody evil sorcerer who had been getting in good with the prince so that he could catch him off guard and kill him! If Merlin had kept this huge secret from him, who's to say he hadn't been playing Arthur from the start? Arthur couldn't even know for certain if Merlin had truly cared for him or if he had been acting the whole time just like all the others who had played Arthur.

This thought brought tears to his eyes, though he tried to blink them away fiercely. He had truly thought that he'd finally found someone who loved him for who he really was and not for his title and now he had no idea if anyone like that in the world existed.

. . .

To say that Arthur was out of his element was an understatement. He'd only ever had rows with his father and Morgana, so he was not very practiced dealing with lying best mates. Well, he _had_ practice with people lying to him and pretending to be his best mate, but he'd never let any of _those_ deceivers in as much as he had Merlin. And there was a small part of him, despite the hurt and anger he felt, that wanted to pretend nothing had happened and selfishly hold onto the security he'd grown used to when he was with Merlin. But he wasn't quite as good at lying to himself as Merlin was at lying to _him_.

The largest issue was Merlin being in Camelot. Yes, he'd been there for two and a half years and had not tried to kill Uther or Arthur (that Arthur _knew_ of, anyway), but seeing as he was a liar like the rest of them, their safety could still be in jeopardy and that was something Arthur would not risk. No matter how angry he was at Merlin, however, he couldn't bring himself to tell his father and see Merlin be executed. He supposed it was the fault of the feelings he had developed for his manservant, because he really had no idea if Merlin could be trusted or not. Regardless, he was not going to condemn a man to death if he could do otherwise.

The prince was left with only one other option—Merlin had to leave Camelot. He had to go back to Ealdor and live out his life with his mother, which was where he really belonged anyway. He should have never come to Camelot and befriended Arthur and made his life more complicated than it had been. Arthur was completely content with his life before Merlin came along and he could have done without all this mess to begin with.

Arthur had avoided Merlin for the last few days, appointing another castle servant as his personal servant, though he was aware that Merlin came every morning to find out if Arthur wanted to see him yet. He came again on the fourth day and Arthur allowed him to enter his chambers, though the prince could not bring himself to look at Merlin. Instead he stared out the window as he said, "You must leave Camelot. Pack up your things and leave by nightfall or I will tell the king of your magic and you will face execution."

There was silence for an eternity and it was so thick that Arthur could not help but raise his eyes to look at his old manservant, who had tears brimming his eyes and was staring at Arthur pointedly. Arthur couldn't break the gaze once he had it, so Merlin did it instead. He bowed low to Arthur and replied, "As you command, sire," and then he left.

This was not supposed to be difficult for Arthur, but he felt a coldness filling him to the brim until his soul was frozen, threatening to shatter so that there was nothing left of him but glistening pieces of discarded ice.

. . .

It had been two months since Merlin left Camelot for his home village of Ealdor and he had tried his best to forget the prince and the new life he had built in the castle. Going back to farming and livestock after his time in Camelot wasn't easy, but he'd grown up with it so it wasn't impossible if he just put in a little effort. His enthusiasm wasn't exactly great, but seeing as he had nowhere else to go, he finally allowed the routine to overtake him until he was numb to the loss of his exciting life in the city.

Despite his effort, there was not a moment that passed that he did not think of Arthur in one way or another. The prince's face was there when Merlin's eyelids closed for that split second of blinking, his faint kiss was on Merlin's lips as he finally gave into exhaustion and fell asleep, and the blond's laughter drifted into Merlin's ears when he woke in the early morning. At first it made the warlock's heart ache to have Arthur invading his every thought, but eventually it was a comfort Merlin was surprised he ever lived without before he'd met the man. He would rather have the memory of Arthur than nothing at all; it was a small comfort, but it was enough to get him smiling again as the weeks wound their way into months.

His time spent there brought back the loss of his best friend Will, who had accepted his gift and not exiled him from the village. _No_, Merlin thought, _Arthur was right to react that way. I lied to him about something he was greatly afraid of—something that had already hurt him many times_.

He wanted to slap his forehead at his own stupidity. _Of course_ Arthur would lose his head when he found out that Merlin possessed the very thing that had constantly threatened his (and his father's) life for almost three years now. Merlin had been so caught up in revealing his magic to Arthur to clear his own conscious that he hadn't even thought about how it would make Arthur feel to know that someone he was so close to could do the same things that Sophia and Morgause could. It was no wonder now that Arthur couldn't bring himself to speak when Merlin had told him.

If only he could see Arthur again and explain that he was not evil in any way and that his only mission was to keep Arthur and anyone he cared about safe from those who would do them harm. It would not do any good though. Arthur had probably already forgotten about Merlin and all that he had done to make the prince's life harder than it already had been. The prince was better off, but that did not mean that Merlin would ever forget about Arthur.

. . .

Arthur had expected everything to become easier with Merlin gone. His life had been less complicated before Merlin had arrived, so he assumed that same comfort would return once the secret sorcerer had left.

He was wrong. In fact, Arthur felt more miserable than he _ever_ had before. He had jokingly said that Merlin was a pain in his arse, but as it turned out, Merlin had made his life more bearable.

Merlin had been back in Ealdor for two months and each day it took Arthur more and more effort to get out of bed and face the tasks he was supposed to perform. Without Merlin's smiling face or clumsy demeanour to amuse him, life was just _boring_. After having that enjoyment in his life, he could not even remember how he had fun before Merlin arrived in the city. He was now entirely uncertain as to whether he had just been a completely miserable sod his entire childhood, because even though Morgana had provided him with someone to bicker and play with, she was a pile of dead sticks compared to the fruitful tree of _Merlin_.

Arthur had certainly tried to remind himself that his ex-manservant had lied to him for _two sodding years_, but even that excuse was beginning to hold no weight for him. The more he thought about it, the more he second-guessed his original stance on the entire matter. He'd first thought that if Merlin had lied to him about his abilities, then he had probably not really cared for Arthur at all. As more and more time passed him by without that idiot by his side, however, he began to think that he might have blown the whole thing out of proportion. There was not a single second that he'd spent with Merlin that he had ever felt in danger and just because the other man had kept a secret from him (that he eventually confessed to Arthur anyway) did not mean that his presence in Camelot was just one giant conspiracy.

Arthur lay awake at night, staring up at the ceiling and wondering if he'd gone and made the biggest mistake of his life. _Finally_ someone had liked him for who he was and genuinely cared for him and at the first sign of trouble Arthur exiled him without a second thought. He didn't like to admit it, but he was beginning to see that the idiot in this situation was not Merlin, but himself.

. . .

After the realisation of his overwhelming stupidity, it did not take Arthur but a couple of days to round up a horse and leave Camelot so that he could go get his useless manservant back. More importantly, Arthur had to get back the person who had changed his life so completely that he could no longer envision a life without that man by his side.

He remembered the way to Merlin's home village as though it had been his own. It was a place that was important to Merlin and therefore it had become something important to Arthur too, without him even realising so. Arthur did not want to stop and sleep after the first day, but he knew that if he did not, he would arrive in the middle of the night and scare the wits out of everyone rather than be welcomed with open arms. Making himself camp was easier than making himself sleep, though, and he spent most of the night staring at the treetops and imagining what Merlin's face would look like when he saw Arthur again.

The sun had barely risen in the sky and Arthur was back on his horse and riding without even a bite of breakfast to calm his growing nerves. The closer he got, the more he worried that maybe Merlin would not _want_ him back after the way he had treated him. By the time he had made it to Ealdor, he was certain that he did not deserve Merlin and he shouldn't even have come to bother him.

His worries froze inside of his throat when he finally laid eyes upon the warlock once more. It had been only three months, but to Arthur it felt like two lifetimes had passed him by. Neither of them could even speak—they just stood there and gawked at one another like brainless fish out of water. Arthur had no nerve now that he was in Merlin's presence, so he was more than grateful that Merlin had enough for the two of them. Merlin walked toward him and slung his arms around Arthur's shoulders so tightly it felt like they would meld into one being. Arthur clung to the man's back just as fiercely, tears now escaping his eyes from the pure joy that filled him then. He pulled back and cupped Merlin's face between his hands, stared into the other man's eyes and then kissed him until they were so breathless they had to hold onto one another to keep upright.

"I thought…" Merlin began to say, but he seemed unable to voice his feelings.

"I'm sorry," Arthur replied simply and it was apparently enough for the warlock, because he nodded and kissed Arthur again and mouthed against his lips, _I love you, Arthur_.

. . .

"_Merlin!_ What have you been _doing_ in here?" Arthur glanced around Gaius' chambers with a disbelieving look. It looked like there had been a flood in the main room and soapsuds were flying around everywhere. Arthur poked a floating bubble and watched it pop and toss soap in its wake.

"I'm cleaning, what does it look like?" Merlin replied smartly, moving a brush around on the floor—it looked to Arthur as if he was just pushing the water around rather than really washing the floor.

"It _looks like_ you flooded the place!"

"Oh don't be dramatic, Arthur, it's not that bad." Merlin wiped his forehead, successfully soaking his fringe and face as he did so.

"You're a mess, mate," Arthur said, albeit fondly. He advanced toward Merlin carefully, cringing as he felt the water seeping into his boots as he did so. He toed Merlin's thigh.

"You think so?" Merlin asked and before Arthur could stop him, he'd wrapped his arms around Arthur's legs and pulled them forward so Arthur landed on his arse on the sopping wet floor. "Thanks, Arthur, you're _so sweet_," the sorcerer smirked at the prince.

"I will kill you, you—you—" Arthur was so stunned he couldn't bring himself to do anything but gawk at the state of his clothing.

"Yeah? You what?" Merlin asked and he crawled over Arthur's lap and began to kiss the prince's open mouth. Arthur suddenly didn't care so much that he was now soaking wet and probably smelled strange. "You what?" Merlin asked again as he pulled away.

"You idiot," Arthur answered feebly, all rebuff dissolved.

"Prat," Merlin replied automatically and kissed his prince again.

-fin-


End file.
